Rogelio
by Evilgoodguy
Summary: The Twentieth Century was an interesting time to be alive. Master Assassin Rogelio Browning Martinho got to see what your history and science books left out. These are three of his more interesting adventures. This story will be coming soon en español y ingles.


Heyo! I've been experiencing a lot of writer's block lately, but I've been working on overcoming it bit by bit. To all fans of Rising Sun, I'm sorry. I'm writing that one ahead so I can get a better grasp of where everything forms.

Now, this here is going to be a something a little different. It's a trio of the more interesting missions in the life of an Irish-Spanish Assassin, Rogelio Browning Martinho. Since Rog grew up speaking Spanish and English interchangeably, I'm going to translate these stories into Spanish when I'm a bit more confident with the language. If anyone would be willing to translate for me, I will grant you credit.

Well, without more to say, I present unto you, Rogelio!

* * *

**August 17, 1944 in Rouen, France**

Rogelio removed his hat as he stepped in from the rain. His footsteps echoed down the dingy concrete corridor. He checked the slip of paper that Azure had given him yesterday. On it was written the number 641. The other Assassins would be waiting in that room. He lit his cigarette as he took a turn up the stairs.

As lightning flashed, a man's shadow appeared at the top of the flight. Rogelio turned off the safety switch of his Luger. He wouldn't allow someone to take the places of his comrades without retribution. Templar, Franquista, Vichy, they were all the same breed of bastard. Nothing waited for him up there. He turned about to see a rather large owl peeking in from a branch near the window.

"Pájaro estúpido," Rogelio tucked away his gun.

At the sixth and final floor, he stopped again. He had either heard someone else's footsteps or the echo of his own. He peeked down the stairwell to check for certainty's sake. Down there, he saw what appeared to be an old woman carrying groceries on a lower floor. Nothing to worry about.

Rain roared on the tin roof like machine gun fire. The hallway smelled of mould and urine, hopefully animal urine, if not mould that just smells like urine. A peeled-up carpet bared stained wood and carried bits of what must have been the old ceiling.

He stood before it now. Only one number plate hung from the door in its right place and that was 6. The 4 dangled upside down and the 1 was probably somewhere else, but he could see well enough the outlines of where it had been. His fist rapped on the door softly so as not to draw too much attention.

"Bonjour?" a familiar old voice creaked through the thin wood.

"Azure? Let me in. I'm here for the meeting."

"Faires le tour {Go around}."

"Do I bloody have to?"

"Oui."

"That's a stupid fuckin' rule," he quietly protested.

"Faires le tour."

"Well fuck me, mate. The rain'll slip me into the fuckin' pavement. Can't you let me in?"

"Non."

"It's fuckin' me. Naranjo. Don't you remember? We had wine and some other super French nonsense last week."

"Non."

"Fine. I'll go the fuck around, and my death will be your fault."

The door swung open to reveal a middle aged Frenchman in an old blue pilot jacket and grey hairs around his ears, arms wide open for an embrace. He grabbed Rogelio and pulled him in to the room. It was somewhat well lit by a single hanging bulb. Five other men other men in the room. Rogelio wanted to get a better glimpse of them, but Azure's ugly face got in the way

"You're the last one," he released Rogelio, "Welcome to the first of hopefully many more meetings of the Fréres de Feu. Let me introduce you to the others first," His hand led to an olive-skinned man with a pointed nose and tiny ears peeking from his cabbie hat, "This is Gryn. He's an old friend of mine."

"Gryn," Rogelio offered his hand to shake.

"Naranjo," he replied with a questioning grimace, as if he weren't too comfortable with Spanish pronunciation or eye contact.

"And this," Azure continued to an older man whose black facial hair highlighted a massive scar that ran from his eye into his grey plaid shirt, "is Dearg."

"Dearg," Rogelio offered his hand again.

"Oh look, he actually said it right. Are you perhaps Irish? I can always smell an Irishman from miles away."

"Just my da, really. I'm from Spain if you can believe it."

"Well that's a damned shame lad. I was hoping for an Irish brother here. Closest we got to that are the American and the Dane and those aren't exactly very close."

"Better than nothing."

Dearg chuckled, "Aye, I suppose that. Froggy here genuinely believed that I speak Irish. Real question is 'Can you believe that?' The only Irish I know is how to order food and say the Lord's Prayer."

"I suppose that is a bit silly-"

"Over here is Yellow," Azure shoved Rogelio out of the oh-so-very-Irish conversation.

Yellow was a young man leaned back against the table in the centre of the room with his arms crossed. His tired and judgmental eyes scoured the room. It only made sense, seeing as how he wore a weathered uniform straight from the American army.

"Yellow," Rogelio saluted.

"Wrong country. You're supposed to show the back of the hand," he replied.

"That's what I thought you'd say."

The American's arms uncrossed. His thumb touched his Roman nose before he clicked his tongue and pointed to Rogelio.

"Oui, very pleasant conversations," Azure interrupted, "but there is one mor-"

"Me llamo Lilla, amigo," the last man introduced himself in Spanish. By process of elimination, however, he must have been the Dane. He stood almost two metres tall, but could not have weighed more than eighty kilos. Bits of golden hair showed from under a black denazified officer cap. He had a few wrinkles, but his bright blue eyes showed as much vitality as a man half his apparent age.

"And where did this Aryan pole come from and who taught him Spanish?"

"I'm no Pole mate," he answered with a new British accent and a massive grin, "I'm the Dane."

"And he finishes with a pun! Excellent!" Azure exclaimed, "Now that everyone is acquainted, our meeting begins!"

Everyone gathered around the table. A dog-eared and coffee-stained map of Europe lay open before them with Rouen marked by a black circle.

"Lilla, you begin," Azure passed him a marking pen.

Lilla drew a red line from Amsterdam to Dusseldorf, "I was transporting German sympathisers from Holland to Germany, when-"

"German sympathizers?" Yellow impeded, "Why?"

"Private execution for the men. Public humiliation for the women."

Regardless, I noticed a few of my passengers discussing what Azure and I now suspect to be descriptions of a Piece of Eden. They were convincing enough that I would expect to find one if we follow the trail. That shouldn't be too hard. I forge documents for all of my passengers, in case I need to track them later."

"And where are these documents?" Azure asked.

"With the passengers? Though I wouldn't call them 'passengers' any longer…"

"But how do you plan to keep up with them?"

"This," Lilla hoisted a briefcase onto the table and clicked it open. Inside, enough envelopes to fill many books were aligned in a prefect shingle arrangement, "I keep my own documents on them."

"So we have two Pieces of Eden in Germany: one held by the Fürher and one held by a random civilian."

Gryn popped his neck with a cringe on his face.

"Possibly," Lilla continued as if he had not noticed, "We don't know how far the subject may have moved."

"Why not?" Azure asked.

"When people fear for their lives," he closed the briefcase, "you never know where they'll end up."

"Bon. Naranjo," Azure snatched the pen and passed it to Rogelio, "Would you care to share your information?"

Rogelio drew an arrow pointing from the Iberian peninsula to a place near the coast of Africa and just off the edge of the map, "I intercepted a letter signed by the majestic king of jackasses, Francisco Franco. He has been collaborating with military personnel on the Canary Islands with a lead on a piece of Eden. He didn't even bother to encode it. He must have more faith in himself than the fascists have in him."

"Did he mention where?"

"Tenerife, under the pyramids."

"Pyramids in the Canaries?" Dearg said, "I think I've heard everything now. Egypt and Mexico, certainly, but that doesn't sound right at all."

"We are talking about incredibly rare and impossibly ancient artefacts capable of real magic. Don't tell me some weird pyramids are too much for you."

"That's a very good lead," Azure segued the conversation by moving the pen, "Dearg, you said you had one."

"Aye, I was bloodying up a Templar when he mentioned something about Ukraine. Said there are some gypsies there with interesting information. Said they're awfully good at predicting the future. Also said that they always look into a mirror before they make a prediction and that isn't typical gypsy behaviour at all."

"Gypsy? What is gypsy?"

"Gitan," Lilla translated.

"Merci. You think this is a Piece of Eden, Dearg?"

"Good enough that the Templars are looking into it. If they find anything, we want to snatch it from their hands. If we find it, then it's ours. If there's nothing there, then we didn't lose many resources finding nothing."

"It won't be quite so simple. Maybe if the Germans still had Ukraine, it would be, but the Soviétiques have it now."

"The who? Would you care to repeat that? Because I have no idea what you were talking about."

"Soviets," Lilla answered for Azure, "If you really need to know how bad they are, forget everything the Germans would tell you about them. Jews like Gryn have an incredibly slim, but existent, chance to live freely in Germany by renouncing their culture and becoming honorary Aryans. The Soviets don't make exceptions. They kill any man where he prays, and if he's a Jew who doesn't pray, they'll move him to an oblast on the far end of Eurasia. They don't care if everyone starves, as long as they starve equally."

"Well I'm going to Ukraine anyway. I can handle the best Templars England can throw at me, so I'm not too worried about about a bunch of Reds. I'm made of tougher stuff."

"We have our first volunteer," Azure commented, "This is good. That's why I brought all of us here. You are all among the best Assassins Europe can offer (or in the case of Yellow, replacing one of the best Englishmen our Brotherhood has). We are going to approach these missions in pairs."

Yellow huffed, "Just be glad I'm here."

"I'm not the best," Gryn replied. The whole room's attention turned to the one who had broken what was nearly a perfect silence. "The best would have killed Hitler. The best would have saved Claus. The best would have brought the damn Apple," Gryn's head bowed in either shame or anger, "We shouldn't even need this meeting."

Azure cleared his throat, "Gryn, do not tell me that you are still going on about that. Stop blaming yourself. We still need you here. Now."

"Could be for the best," Yellow said, "Hitler could get replaced by someone worse."

"Yellow, now is not he time."

"I really don't give a fuck, but I need to go to Germany. As far as the Army is concerned, I went MIA at my jump. This whole 'lone American wandering around France' doesn't look good, so I need to get back in touch with them."

Lilla took a swig from a thermos, "I'll also go to Germany. They seem to trust me there. As for Yellow (and everyone else really), I can forge any documents we need to pass him as maybe one of their American soldiers or even an honorary Aryan."

"Wait. Say that again."

"Honorary Aryan? It's a funny phrase, I'll admit."

"No no, you mean to tell me that some of our guys work for the Krauts?"

"Hundreds. They've been in the war longer than the actual American army."

"Well I'll be damned," Yellow's tongue bulged his cheek.

"What about the Canaries?" Azure requested a volunteer.

Rogelio placed his hand on the arrow he had drawn, "Spain is my home and Franco is not my leader. I'll go to the Canaries. All I need is a plane."

"Look no further," Azure straightened his sky blue coat, "I was an As in the Great War."

"Muy bien, I suppose. We still need to get a plane, but I know someone in Valencia who could help us."

"Oui oui, but that only leaves Gryn to go to Ukraine. I think I would feel more comfortable sending Lilla to Ukraine since he is the only one of us who speaks the language. Gryn should go to Germany, where he can speak with the locals."

"I can't go back to Germany," Gryn stated, "Every German officer knows my face by now. I'm going to Ukraine."

"Aye that's a good lad," Dearg patted his back, "We're going to steal from those gypsies. We're going to steal their device that helps them see the future. If we're lucky, we may even get to see how their curse is going to kill us."

"So is everyone in agreement?" Azure asked, "Are we ready to begin?"

"Yeah, I have a question. Can we drop the stupid colors?" Yellow asked, "Where I'm from, you don't call a man yellow without starting a fight."

"After we have separated and not a moment sooner. If our enemies learn our names, they may be able to track us. If we are all in agreement, then we just need to wait a day while Lilla makes us new documents."

**August 20, 1944 over La Gomera, Canary Islands, Spain**

Azure peeked over his shoulder and yelled over the wind, "Are you ready to jump?"

Rogelio winced, "Say that again. I believe I have something crazy in my ear."

"It is simple. Just unbuckle your seat belt, jump, and pull your cord. We need to land in that forest," Azure pointed to a thickly wooded area from which massive cliffs jutted, like a series of rifles all aligned tightly, "We only get one chance."

"I think now would be a bad time to mention that I'm scared of heights."

The old man leapt from his seat and held onto the upper tier wing by one hand, extending the other to Rogelio, "Hold on."

Rogelio disconnected his seat belt and grasped the wrinkly salvation. He was ripped from his seat and only held safe by Azure. That did not bode well to Rogelio, who could not help but to notice that the two were still in a free fall.

"Pull my cord," Azure yelled, "Can you find it?"

Rogelio pulled the metal loop on the front of Azure's pack, releasing the parachute from its dangerous confinement.

"Good, that was good," the old Frenchman assured, "Could you do it again?"

"I would rather not."

"Too bad. We're falling too fast," and with that, Azure tossed Rogelio back into free fall.

With a panic, he grasped for his own ring, but did not feel it. His hands scurried about in search of his ring. That idiot Azure. He felt for his ba- Something jerked his armpits. Rogelio looked up to see his parachute in full bloom. The sight of his no-longer-drastically-shortened lifespan filled his heart with relief.

Somewhere ahead of Azure and himself, the biplane disappeared into the ocean, leaving only a single could of smoke to identify its location. Rogelio was thankful then, that this all took place with his back to the sunset.

Somewhere down below, the treetops seemed to open a clearing. As he approached, he recalled his assassin training under his mother. One of the things she always stressed was to bend his knees upon landing or his knees would suffer. If it worked falling from a building, then it should work falling from a plane.

Upon impact, Rogelio habitually rolled forward, another holdover from his training. The parachute came down as a massive blanket to cover him. Rogelio stood, but the ropes had tangled him when he rolled. He unfolded his knife to cut away at all of the cords and cover until he could breathe the salty Canarian air again.

Not far away, Azure had landed in such a way that he was still standing and his parachute fell safely behind him, "You looked like you were having trouble."

"Azure, if you ever do that again, I will ... I will ... I don't know what I'll do, but it's so terrible that I haven't thought of it yet."

"Certainly, Browning," he wiped the dust off of himself, "That is exactly what you are talking about."

"You aren't even listening."

"Félicitations, you and I have bigger problems."

Rogelio raised his Luger in preparation of his bigger problems, "Where?"

"I do not see them yet, but keep loaded," the golden dusk gleamed from Azure's pistol, "is your lampe de poche ready?"

"My what?"

Azure's right hand slipped into his pocket and removed a small tubular flashlight.

Rogelio snapped his fingers and drew a light of his own, "I have it."

"Bon. Let us move to... What was the name of the town?"

"San Sebastián."

"Oui, there. We will get a hotel room for a night while we plan. The next day, we leave for Tenerife," Azure drew a knife longer than his forearm, "Do you trust me to lead the way?"

As necessary as a large weapon would be to cut the thick underbrush of the Canarian forest would be, Rogelio had his doubts. "I don't even know your name," he voiced them.

"Rochard, Justinien Rochard," he patted Rogelio's shoulder, "now you can trust me."

**August 21, 1944 in San Sebastián, Canary Islands, Spain**

Rogelio fastened the last buttons of his new green Spanish uniform. He felt like something of a traitor wearing the same Nationalist outfit as the men who had killed his father and his mentor back in the Civil War. Nevertheless, his duty to the Assassins required these clothes, so he would begin his charade.

"What do you think?" he asked Rochard.

"I think the ladies would love you and the Assassins would want you dead."

"I do think that a shave may be necessary," he felt the stubble across his chin, "Would you care to pass me a razor and turn on the radio?"

As Rogelio wet his face with a warm towel, the unmistakable piano intro of Bésame Mucho sweetened in his ears. His shoulders moved with the rhythm of the music.

"Is this a good song?" Rochard asked.

"I quite like it. It has a fine singer and it's a very romantic song."

"I never would have thought of you as a romantic after the girl in Rouen ... the girl in Valencia ... or the girl you promised to meet later tonight."

Rogelio cut the hair on his left cheek, "It's all in good fun. As long as I don't plan to settle down any time soon, I don't see the problem with spending time with the ladies."

"Well, I am a bit more fond of monogamie."

"You can say that all you like, but last I checked, monogamy does not mean living on your own. Seriously, when was the last time you got to feel a woman's body?" Rogelio pantomimed his hands rubbing a womanly hourglass.

"Eleven years," Rochard sat down on his bed with his hands hiding the shame on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the circus!" Rogelio extended his arms with the razor pointed to his aging friend, "Our first exhibit is the one and only celibate Frenchman. Next exhibit, the intelligent Nationalist."

"I would have you know that my wife and I separated years ago."

"Just like a good Catholic."

Rochard nodded with his lips pursed, "Oui, and I would do anything to have her back."

"Then it's a good thing you can't understand this song," Rogelio resumed shaving.

"Is it about love?"

"No, but it's close. What separated you?"

"That is not important."

"Was it another woman?"

"What? Non!"

"Then who was the blonde lady I saw in your wallet?"

"Do you mean this lady?" he pulled a picture of a beautiful woman whose shoulder length light hair seemed to disappear into the grey background of the photo. Her nose was as Germanic as her uniform, "This woman is my némésis."

"Make love, not war."

"About that, you will not be making love tonight. We need to prepare for war."

Rogelio's eyes rolled by instinct.

"I am serious," Rochard continued, "We still need to get your rifle and we need to plan the rest of this mission.

"Don't worry about that rifle. I happen to know where we can get one."

**August 21, 1944 on Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain**

The scent of dust was thick in the air on this blisteringly hot day. Rogelio walked down the dirt path alone. Upon his right shoulder rested a shovel. Behind his left shoulder hung his carbine. Across his back was a heavy pack of excavation gear. His jacket was halfway open to cool him down at least a little.

Rochard was away doing... something else that Rogelio had forgotten. Truth was, the man may have been a Master Assassin, but he was far too old and French to succeed this infiltration.

Up ahead, Rogelio saw levels of rocky slopes topped off by men working on flat ground. He was confident that what he saw were the pyramids. He began running. He needed to look somewhat haggard for the plan to work.

Soon enough, he could hear pickaxes clang against stone. The mens' army uniforms became more visible they were not wearing packs, or even their jackets. Instead their jackets were draped over their packs to avoid overheating in the harsh Canarian sun. Seemed sensible enough.

"Where is our commanding officer?!" Rogelio shouted when he had gotten close enough that he believed they could hear him.

Surely enough, one of the men on the lower step stopped shovelling and wiped sweat from his forehead, "Coronel Bernal?"

"Sí," Rogelio stopped and bent onto his knees to feign exhaustion.

"Other side," the bare chested and shining soldier pointed across the pyramid, "Be careful. He may want to kill you."

Rogelio knew the truth of those words more than the man who said them. He quickly ran around the pyramid until he saw a man wearing a tan officer's uniform.

"Coronel! Coronel! Lo siento. I did not mean to be late."

"Soldado! What in the hell do you think you are doing?" Bernal scorned with a harsh rasp that his a voice deepened by a decade of issuing military commands.

The impostor stopped at full attention, "Just point me to a pyramid and I will dig."

Coronel Bernal's scowl highlighted the pockmarks on his face, Rogelio could not see through the military sunglasses, but they barely hid the fury of a grenade ready to explode. If he were anything like an Assassin mentor, this would be a time for a tongue lashing to remember. Or forget. After however many, they tended to blend together into a single session of repeated words like a skipping record. The Assassin may as well have been deaf.

When the generic rant was over, Rogelio withheld his laughter under the facade of submission. His eyes looked into the vein that look ready to explode from Bernal's forehead. Frankly, he expected Franco's golden child to be taller and more collected.

He grabbed the gun over Rogelio's shoulder, "And why did you bring your gun? We don't need the extra weight!"

"Asesinos, Coronel."

Bernal's eyebrow arched from his sunglasses. His snarl disappeared as he pulled a cigarette from an aluminium container. Scars and callouses covered his hands, but they were deft, "Which hijo de puta sent you?" he examined the name tag on Rogelio's uniform, "Casales."

"Coronel García, Coronel. From el Orden del Temple."

"El Orden ..."

"Franco is losing his patience."

"I was hoping to keep these pyramids," Bernal bit inside his cheek, "We are going to have to blow them apart until we find it. Cover your ears," Bernal pulled a megaphone from his back, "GORDOS, WE ARE FINISHED DIGGING. PREPARE THE DYNAMITE AND SAY GOODBYE TO THE PYRAMIDS."

**Four hours later**

Rogelio had not heard an explosion like that since the Civil War. His ears rung so loudly that he was almost certain he had gone deaf. Shrapnel of rock splashed over him and rolled down the pyramid which sheltered him. None of the other men appeared to have been hurt. When he checked over the edge, the smallest pyramid had been replaced by a crater of dirt.

"Nada," Bernal muttered and accessed his megaphone, "NEXT PYRAMID."

"Coronel, what are we looking for?" Rogelio asked.

"The pyramids are hollow. One of them has a tunnel that leads to the artefact."

"Oh, but would-"

"PULL!"

The microphone yelling may have actually been worse then the following explosion. At this point, deafness was nigh inevitable. Another, much heavier wave of dirt and rubble flowed over the men. This time, the largest pyramid was demolished and again, nothing was to be found.

Rogelio tried to concoct some fanciful and creative insults, but was not entirely sure of what he was saying, since he could not hear it. He only hoped that it matched what he wanted to say. The confused look on Bernal's face confirmed what Rogelio hoped he was saying.

The next detonation was one he could only feel. It was even bigger than the others, but that could have been due to the fact that Rogelio could only feel it. Again he was washed with soil and stone, but something different happened. Bernal stood up. He gathered some of his men.

Rogelio caught a glimpse of it, personally. A small door had been exposed by the blast. Bernal had found what he was looking for.

Later that night

Rogelio dropped through the window of Coronel Bernal's office. The thin military presence on the island was becoming somewhat worrisome. Maybe not worrisome in the sense that the Assassins' mission would become difficult, but that it felt reserved. Even here on the barracks, neither had seen more than a dozen soldiers. Not one of them needed to be killed or even distracted. All of this was despite the fact that the barracks were lit at the corners. The new moon was, of course, a huge help.

He turned on his flashlight, illuminating a small portion of the room. Bernal's desk was littered with stacks of papers randomly assorted in a pattern only their owner would recognize. The room seemed to be lacking a safe box. Only pictures of the Coronel's beautiful wife and hideous children decorated the walls. Rogelio hated these reminders that his potential assassinations could be normal human beings with families and friends. Still, no Templar operation was rightly complete without either an outcome or Assassin intervention. Whatever they were looking for, it would have to be here. He shuffled through the shelves and cabinets of the office, careful not to create too much attention.

One such drawer resisted his attempt to open it. A keyhole begged for insertion before he could progress. It was a lower drawer and these types of modern desk were generally based with wood pulp. Rogelio reached his hand underneath and punched up through the flimsy board. He was greeted with the cold feel of round metal.

He withdrew his hand with the object held firm as a grenade with the pin pulled. Brilliant gold lines wrapped around a shining pale ball. They formed a sort of pattern, but Rogelio could not determine what kind. They looked like grooves but felt as perfectly round and smooth as the rest of the thing. They curved instead of making angles. Where they crossed, the lines would bulge into a circle. It was a magnificent... Whatever it was.

Rogelio had heard enough about these pieces of Eden to know that they held incredible power, but that they also all work differently. Was this one a database? Could it split the oceans or create illusions? Was it involved in the building of the pyramids from which it was excavated? More importantly, how did it work?

"Browning," Rochard whispered into the window, "Do you have it?"

"Sí."

"Then we should hurry."

Rogelio dropped the artefact into his backpack before he jumped out of the office and landed in silence, "Is something wrong?"

Rochard pointed to the vague shapes of a few men, but even silhouettes were barely visible under the lack of moonlight. They could barely be heard out there, and that was enough. Rogelio listened closely to try to discern their conversation only for his ears to pick up on something else: something familiar that chilled his bones. He caught the distinctly gravelled sound of Coronel Bernal.

Both Assassins nodded in agreement and escaped from the barracks. Getting out was as difficult as getting in. It was one of those bizarre advantages of living in a fascist nation. Certainly, life was under tight military control, but the same military got lazy from the fumes of their own arrogance. Typical Franquista behaviour. Within seconds, the Assassins were running into town. The sight of cars and wooden buildings was beyond welcome after standing all day between the pyramids. Freedom would be theirs momentarily.

As they slowed down, Rogelio decided the time was right to speak, "Were you able to get a plane?"

"Non. I got a boat. If we hurry, we can make before the sirens."

"The sirens?"

"I would be surprised if Bernal does not embargo the island until he gets his Apple back."

"And when he does embargo?"

"We can not stay here. We would need to escape into the forest until we can return to the little rowboat that got us here. We need to get to our hors-bord as soon as we can."

"Our what?"

"Boat. Fast. I'm tired of having to explain these things to you."

"You could just learn Spanish and save yourself some headache."

"My head does not have room for a third language. You should learn French."

"Oh, I intend to learn it one day. The second most beautiful women in the world are from France."

"Another reason we need to survive."

Behind the Assassins, an air raid siren howled. Rogelio wanted to compare it to something, but this was all too familiar a sound for comparison. His heart started racing as they stopped to look each other in the eyes with the hope that a plan could be read from the eyes alone.

"I have an idea," Rogelio posited.

"What is it?" Rochard asked.

"Lead me to the boat," Rogelio aimed his unloaded carbine to his ally.

Rochard's face moved away from the barrel in fear that it could go off at any moment. His hands moved up behind his head. He nodded in understanding.

"Now lead," Rogelio said calmly.

Rochard walked the distance of the town. They passed several soldiers and police, but none seemed suspicious. The smell of salt was growing stronger. As they walked toward the sea, the soldier sightings became more frequent. A few military vehicles even passed them.

At the dock, a wall of men in tan uniforms blocked passage. Rogelio could see the motorboat behind them. White and red, just as the Brotherhood liked. A very large and dark man with the rank of sargento and the name Alisoso approached the Assassins, "¡Alto! We have an embargo. No one gets in or out of the island."

"I have orders by Coronel Bernal to kill this man at sea."

"Coronel Bernal told me-"

"¡Alisoso! Are you questioning the Coronel's orders?!"

Despite being about two meters tall, the sargento backed away, "Let them pass."

"Gracias," Rogelio then pushed forward to whisper to his ally/hostage, "I can't drive a boat."

"Do not worry. I can."

Both men hopped into the boat. Rochard took the wheel with Rogelio standing immediately behind him. The impostor glanced over to Sargento Alisoso and nodded.

"¡Ándale!" Rogelio barked.

The boat started with a hum which became a roar. It moved out into the ocean quickly enough. Only the lights of the densely populated islands were visible beyond the blue waters around the boat. Above, the stars shone brightly enough that navigation would not be a problem. The water felt calm tonight. This was good. Rogelio hated the sea more than the sky.

Rochard turned around in his seat, "We are going west to Morocco. They will not find us there. Please fire a shot into the water."

"Keep them off our backs?"

"Por favor."

Rogelio understood well enough the importance of façade. He loaded his carbine with the only shells he could acquire. When the lights of Tenerife vanished over the horizon, Rogelio placed a shot into the ocean with no intent to kill. Though killing her would have been nice.

"Browning, take a look. Scout plane," Rochard pointed to what appeared as a low flying star growing ever nearer

"We need to keep our heads low."

"No, we need you to kill it if it sees us. I hope you brought your scope."

"Never leave home without one," Rogelio mounted his scope onto the carbine, "Good thing the sea is smooth, or this could be hard."

"There is no smooth sea. There are only waves too large to feel."

The light of the plane scoured the waters. Soon enough, it passed the boat and turned for a second scan. Rochard cut the motor, but the light crossed the boat's trail. It turned around again, and so Rogelio aimed the carbine. He could only see the plane by its light, so most any shot would be futile. Still, a shot int he dark was preferable to no shot at all.

The gun recoiled hard, but Rogelio aimed steady. He did not get to be the best sniper in Spain by caving to a little sting from his gun. The plane did not seem to change direction, altitude, or anything else it could have done to notice him. It did not even retaliate.

**August 23, 1944 on the shore of Laâyoune-Boujdour-Sakia El Hamra, Morocco**

The sun did not wake Rogelio that morning, nor did Rochard. The boat's crash into land did nothing. Instead, he was awoken by incoherent shouting above him. Rochard was already standing with his hands reaching for the sky. Rogelio stood up. He would have fired at what he saw next, but he had no bullets.

"We do not have any object!" Rochard yelled to someone in a tan Moroccan uniform off the boat, "We do not even know who these Assassins are."

"What's going on?" Rogelio whispered, raising his own hands behind his head.

"The Templars are here."

* * *

Credits  
Rogelio "Naranjo" Browning Martinho was made by Pens Akimbo.  
Adam "Gryn" Cassel was made by Chinqs.  
Christopher "Yellow" Phoenix was made by LinkXZ.  
Stian "Lilla" Hansen was made by Turtle Feathers.  
Patrick "Dearg" O'Leary was made by … Ganolith, but he doesn't have an account here.  
Ultimately, Justinien "Azure" Rochard is the only character I made myself.


End file.
